I remember as a child, always being teased about various things, one of which my enormous ears which I had pinned at the age of 8. I look back and am shocked that a doctor performed plastic surgery on an 8yr old, but I don't regret it, I'm glad I did it and I FULLY believe in the power of cosmetic surgery! My goal in life is to look like a mix between Cher and Dolly Parton by the time I'm 60. I need to get started. I recently posted on my facebook page the day I turned 37 that I thought that "37 was a botox birthday", lol.
My Mom used to console me from my many sessions of crying as a young boy by telling me that I had a huge heart, and she would open her arms as wide as she could to demonstrate that my heart was "this big!" and that it was a beautiful quality. She was a great mother. I had a temper, that much is for sure, but all in all I was a good boy. I never got in fights, I was never given detention, and was never suspended or expelled from school. At age 13 I found a church of my own accord and started going. I'd accepted Jesus as my personal Lord and Savior twice by this point and had befriended a born-again christian family and been doing bible study, prayer and vacation bible school all on my own doing. Well, actually with the influence of my aunt, but I did it mostly because I wanted to. Growing up an only child I was desperately lonely and finding these people who showed me endless amounts of seemingly unconditional love (I say seemingly because I later found that their love hinged on my continued belief in Jesus and the bible) was like finding a crystal clear, mountain cool geyser of water after wandering the desert most of your life.
After these friends moved to the Boston area I found a local church and made friends there, good friends who were my family for a time. I was a good boy. In school i was quiet, I got relatively good grades, I was never in trouble, I lettered in Varsity swimming and took myself to church every Sunday and was in the choir. Man, didn't everyone see GAY written all over me??? LoL.
In high school I had a friend named Cyndi. She was Mexican and her father loved me because I was Irish. Her family really liked me because I "appeared" to have my shit together and was a "good boy". She used to lovingly tease me about being such a quiet guy, never causing trouble but that was my defense mechanism - to blend in - like a Chameleon. Trying not to be noticed was how I swam the shark infested waters of high school. She and I even went in a 3 couples group to our Senior Prom. Then after high school I started to rebel. I began haunting the establishment known as The Nob Hill Theatre mentioned in my first post, lost my virginity, actually I didn't loose it, I remember exactly where I left it! On Travis Air Force Base in Fairfield, CA with the first masculine man who woo'd me enough to get my pants down around my ankles, but I digress. I started dating a super "popular" for lack of a better word - bouncer/doorman at the local popular gay club, made a few gay friends, and moved out of my mom's house and into a house I was renting with co-workers. On my 21st birthday party I invited Cyndi to my party because I hadn't seen her in a few years. She brought a friend of hers who I didn't like so much in the past, and who apparently thought I was a TOTAL bore. By the time Cyndi showed up I was totally shit faced on probably anything I could get my hands on. All I remember getting my hands on was Peach Schnapps - need I say more? She didn't stay too long and apparently turned to her friend and said "What happened to my innocent Jason?" to which her friend replied "I know, isn't it great!!".
I bring this up because once upon a time I wasn't a recovering alcoholic. Once upon a time I wasn't a sex addict. Once upon a time I was a good boy. Although not many from my life as an adult believe me, one or two friends survive from my days of youthful abstinence and purity. I quickly threw the girl in the pure white dress into the volcano as a sacrifice and began my descent down the road of lustful abandon, drug and alcohol fueled frenzies, and eventually incomprehensible demoralization. I definitely earned my seat in the rooms of recovery, but once upon a time I was a good boy.
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